Peter Pan Meets Houdini
by where's-waldo-15
Summary: Shawn and Neal are both kidnapped by the same person...now they have to figure out how BOTH of them can get out alive... R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**Okay...random idea popped into my head...here it is! :)**

* * *

**Prologue**

**~Shawn~**

Shawn walked alone on the beach, thinking about nothing and staring at the sand at his feet. The crashing waves drowned out every other sound, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Suddenly, Shawn paused. The ground was coming quickly toward his face, but he could've sworn that he was walking. Why...?

Shawn's shoulder connected with the ground, and he found himself staring at a slimy piece of dark greem seaweed. Then he was looking at the sky.

What was he doing? He felt very lightheaded suddenly, and his thinking was a little foggy. In fact, everything else seemed a little blurred around the edges, too.

Shawn looked down - he didn't know why - and then immediately regretted it when he saw and felt warm red liquid seeping - almost flowing - out of the right side of his torso. As soon as he saw the blood, the pain came, white-hot and searing. The pain was so intense that before he could cry out, he passed out on the sand, blackness filling his vision.

**~Neal~**

"You know what? I'll walk home." Neal stared angrily at his partner, his expression cold. "Check my anklet if you don't trust me."

"You know what? I _will_!" Peter exclaimed.

Neal waved a hand at him carelessly as he turned and walked away. "Do it."

As Neal walked down the street, the wind blew in his hair. It was a cloudy day, a little after three in the afternoon, and Peter had yet again accused Neal of conspiring with the criminals they were trying to arrest. And yet again, Neal had _no _involvement in it. But that didn't matter. Neal had lied to Peter about the treasure...it wouldn't be too hard to lie to him again. At least, that was what Peter thought. In truth, Neal couldn't stomach lying to Peter again - he didn't want Elizabeth in danger again. He didn't want _anyone _that Peter cared about in danger. And if he kept something from Peter, or lied to him, that could very well happen again.

As Neal walked up the steps to June's house, something suddenly hit the back of his head. Neal crumpled under the blow, stumbling down the two stairs he had already gone up. The last thing he saw was a shining silver medallion necklace, and then he was surrounded in darkness.

* * *

**Yes, I do recognize that the dialogue in Neal's part was pretty much a mirror image of what they said in Home Invasion, but it just fit so perfectly, and it'll be great for the next chapters...**

**Anyhoo...review, si'l vous plaît (please)?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow…I just realized what a terribly long wait you guys had. Sorry about that! I had to keep rewriting this because I was never quite satisfied with it – it moved a bit too quickly. But, hey! Now Shawn and Neal finally meet! :)**

* * *

Neal winced as he opened his eyes. His head pulsed painfully, and a ringing sound filled his ears.

_Yep. Definitely got a concussion. _Neal thought. He groaned involuntarily as he scooted himself into a sitting position. Then he bounced, sending a blinding pain through his skull, and with a little gasp, he lowered himself again, trying to see through the white in front of his eyes. He gradually became aware that he was in a moving vehicle, and as his vision cleared, he realized that he was in the back of a moving van. The lighting was dim – he wasn't sure where it was coming from – but he could just make out several pieces of furniture stacked against the walls, and boxes strewn about. There was a metallic sort of smell in the air that was familiar but he couldn't quite place. He realized that he was leaning on the far end of the moving van, where the door was.

He turned and felt along the bottom for the latch, but it was completely smooth. Except…

He recognized the paneling in front of a key, and tried to feel around to see if he could unscrew the panel to get through. He felt around in his suit jacket, but everything had been taken out of the pockets, including his lock picking set and his wallet. He couldn't even find the breath mint that he'd remembered putting in his pocket that morning, or his comb. If he had his comb, he could break off one of the teeth and use that, but no. Someone didn't like him, apparently.

"Don't bother."

Neal jumped a little (to his embarrassment) at the voice that seemed to come from only a foot away. He squinted his eyes in an effort to see, and finally his eyes focused on a man. He couldn't tell much about him, only that he had kind of…poofy hair on top. He couldn't see his expression, but when he spoke, he spoke as though it pained him to do so.

"I already tried while you were out." The man continued, and judging by the sound of his voice, he sounded like he was probably around the same age as Neal, maybe a couple of years younger. Of course, he couldn't be sure, unable to see in the darkness.

Neal sighed. "Well…I had to try."

"The name's Shawn Spencer," the other man said after a moment of contemplative silence.

"I'm Nick," Neal said a bit distantly, as though he wasn't really thinking about it.

Shawn laughed quietly, derisively. "Yeah," he said quietly, as though he was talking to himself. "If you say so."

Neal decided not to respond to Shawn's comment, instead saying, "Do you know where we're being taken?"

Shawn snorted. "I only woke up about half an hour before _you_ did, and since then we've only made a round left turn and bumped over fifty-seven potholes. I'd say we've gone about thirty miles since then, give or take a few. But I have _no _idea what time of day it is, or how long we've been traveling, so that doesn't help any."

Just then the van bounced again, jostling them both, making them both wince.

Shawn muttered, "Fifty-eight."

Neal pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the pain in his head. "Do you know what these guys _want_?" he asked after a minute, sounding strained.

"Most likely my face," Shawn said, sounding completely serious. "I don't blame them. It's a pretty good face."

Neal rolled his eyes. "_Seriously_, Shawn," he said, sounding annoyed, but then he smiled mischievously, even though Shawn probably couldn't see it. "Obviously it's mysparkling personality and thousand-watt smile that's got them taking me away. It's not all about _you_, you know."

Neal could feel Shawn grinning. "I don't know, _Nick_. They did take _me _first. Why else would I have woken up before _you_ did?"

"Hm," Neal said, sounding thoughtful. "You provide a fair point, Shawn, but you don't know that I have the brightest blue eyes in all of New York."

"_Well_, Nick, you don't know that I have amazing psychic abilities that will literally _blow __**your**__**mind**_."

"Hm. I'm not sure whether I should be impressed and jealous, or weirded out and concerned for your mental health."

"Alright, you don't believe me? You don't think I'm really a psychic?" Shawn sounded indignant.

"Of course I believe you're psychic – just like I believe in the chances that there won't eventually be an iPhone 15 and that seductive mermaids that lure sailors to their deaths still exist – or ever _did_, for that matter."

"Whoa, man. Don't need to hit on the mermaids." Shawn sounded offended. "It's not their fault that the sailors have good taste and can't help but fall for their beauty."

"Are you serious?" Neal said disbelievingly, but still amused.

"Deadly," Shawn answered seriously, but there was still a certain note of mischief in his voice that questioned his response. He continued, "I can read you like how my best friend Gus reads his drug handbooks while he's studying for his yearly pharmaceutical test."

"Alright, then," Neal said derisively, sarcastically. "What can you tell me about me?"

"Hm…I'm getting…" There was a pause, and then suddenly Shawn started scooting away from him a little. Neal could barely see his silhouette, but he could see that he was at least a couple of inches farther away from him than he had been before. "You're a criminal! Oh, _God_! I'm trapped in the back of a moving van with a _criminal_!"

Neal raised his eyebrows, surprised that Shawn had deduced this so quickly. But then, after another couple of seconds, Neal could see Shawn's silhouette posture relax as he forgot about the issue at hand, and Shawn mumbled to himself, "But why would they kidnap me _and _you? I've never met you before...maybe I met someone you worked for...no, that's not right. You live in New York. Maybe someone moved? There were the Ricardo twins last year, but they're in jail. And then there was Bobby Sherman, but he's dead. Maybe Veronica Houston? No, I would know if it was a woman that took me - they shoot differently. I don't know what it is that makes 'em like that, but there's just something about the way they hold - "

"Wait, wait. Hold on," Neal said suddenly. "You were _shot_?"

"Uh-huh," Shawn said offhandedly. "Not my first time, either. Sorry you can't lay claim to that."

"That explains the smell," Neal muttered, ignoring Shawn's hidden innuendo as he got up and went over to him. "Where were you hit?"

"Uh-uh," Shawn said defiantly. "I am _not _going to let a _criminal _touch anywhere _near _a bullet hole on my body. You could rip the hole bigger, or something…no, sir, I don't feel like dying today, or any time in the near future."

"Quit being ridiculous," Neal said impatiently. "Now where were you hit?"

"_Me _ridiculous? Use your head, _Nick _– or whatever your _real _name is! I'm just a helpless guy from Santa Barbara, trapped in the back of a moving van with a convicted criminal! I hope you'll forgive me if I don't trust you anywhere _near_ my gunshot wound! With my luck, you'll end up ripping an intestine and then my death would not only be long, but also _very _painful!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "You _are _being ridiculous," he argued. "I could smell your blood as soon as I woke up – obviously you've lost a lot _of _it. I've had a bit of experience with gunshot wounds before, and if you don't let me _help _you, you _are _going to die back here from loss of blood. So quit being a stubborn little son of a bitch, and _let me help you._"

"I will have you know, if I die from this, I'm going to sue you for every cent you own. I'll give it to Gus, and have him open a smoothie shop in my memory."

"Deal," Neal said distractedly as he moved over to Shawn, and looked at the wound on his torso with the dim lighting. He couldn't see much, but he knew that it was bad. There was blood all over Shawn's shirt and on his hands, obviously from holding his stomach for so long. Neal felt a little sick to his stomach at the sight, but he pushed through the nausea and touched the wound. Shawn hissed in pain, but said nothing as Neal continued to feel around the lesion.

"It didn't hit anything major," Neal reported, pulling back. "The bullet went straight through, so you should be fine – if you don't lose too much more blood."

"Thanks, Doc," Shawn said sarcastically. "That's real helpful, considering that I'm _bleeding out as we speak_. But that shouldn't be a problem, really – we don't really _need_ blood in our bodies, do we? The human body is designed to withstand problems such as these, you know. My dad was shot a little while ago by this guy Jerry Carp, and he was just fine, even as old as he is. My friend Woody kept thinking that he was dying, but – _aargh_!"

Shawn's pain-filled yell echoed through the moving van as Neal used his tie to secure one of the smaller couch pillows to Shawn's wound, cinching it tight. Shawn instinctively grabbed Neal's arm, squeezing it and trying to push him away at the same time. But Neal only continued tying the tie, trying to ignore Shawn's pain.

When he finished, he sat back, saying, "Sorry about that, Shawn."

Shawn tried to breathe through his nose to calm himself down, squeezing his eyes shut to try and stop the oncoming tears. "It's fine," he said after a minute, sounding strained. "It'll help in the long run."

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**Okay…so the end sounds sudden, but I didn't want to make it too long and what happens next shouldn't be in the second chapter - it would seem too rushed. It shouldn't be too long before the next chapter is up…so bear with me, folks! :)**


	3. Chapter 3

"So…Santa Barbara," Neal said after several more minutes.

"Yeah," Shawn said. "A lot smaller than New York City, but it's home."

"Where do you suppose we are now?" Neal asked. "And why would they kidnap people from opposite ends of the country?"

"Why would they kidnap _you_?" Shawn countered.

"It must have something to do with Peter and me," Neal said almost to himself. "Maybe…"

"Wait – who's Peter?" Shawn interrupted.

"My partner," Neal answered, sounding distracted.

"Oh," Shawn said, not sounding uncomfortable, but more…confused. "I didn't get the impression that you were gay."

"I'm not," Neal said with amusement. "I meant _work _partner."

"Oh!" Shawn's confused expression cleared. "That happened to me an' my friend Gus once, when we were pretending to look for an apartment from a guy that actually turned out to be a psycho killer because his brother committed suicide and he thought everyone who called a stress line was going to off themselves…it's actually a really funny story – I should tell you the whole thing some time."

Neal quirked a smile. "Sounds interesting," he said, meaning it.

Before either one of them could say another word, the truck jerked to a sudden stop. Neal pressed his ear to the door, trying to hear what was going on outside.

"I think we're at a gas station," he said after a few moments. Then he got a sudden idea. "Hey – close your eyes; make your breathing shallow."

"Why?" Shawn asked suspiciously.

"I know how to get us out of here," he said, and proceeded to pound on the door.

"Hey!" he shouted as loud as he could. "We need help back here!"

"Are you crazy?" Shawn hissed. "They're gonna kill us!"

"If they were going to kill us, they would've done it." Neal said shortly. "Hey! _Anyone_!"

Just then a little window slid open in the back door, near the ground.

"Whatchoo boys want?" a man's voice gruffed.

"Oh, thank God," Neal said with the right touch of desperation in his voice to make it believable. "Look, I know with kidnapping you don't generally care about the person's well-being, but obviously you don't want us dead, or you wouldn't have bothered driving us so far alive, and Shawn here…he just dropped. I-I can't feel a pulse, and he's barely breathing…I-I think he's gonna die! Please – you gotta help him!"

The little window slid closed, and all was quiet for several minutes as they waited for a response. Finally Shawn said, "What exactly _is_ your plan?"

"Hey – you're supposed to be dead," Neal admonished.

"Don't be a bald squirrel who only knows how to tap dance," Shawn shot back without missing a beat. "I can use my brain, and I don't see _any_ way how _both _of us are getting out of this."

"It'll happen," Neal said confidently. "Now be quiet and pretend you're dead."

Just as Neal said this, the window slid open again.

"I've got a gun," the man warned him. "I'm gonna open the door, and if you try and escape, I'll shoot you in the foot."

"Got it," Neal said, making sure that his voice quavered a little with nervousness.

The window slid closed, and a moment later, the door opened, sending in a sudden light, blinding Neal. But he ignored it, knowing exactly where he was and the distance between him and the ground. He jumped out before the man could react, knocking the gun out of his hand. Without pausing to think, he began running. After a moment, he heard a gunshot fire and a something sharp came up from the ground and hit his leg. He glanced back and saw Shawn's face first – his expression was one of complete and utter betrayal.

But a moment later, his view was blocked as the forest he ran into covered it. He looked forward again.

_It's alright, Shawn, _he thought, as though he could transfer the message to him telepathically. _I'll be back._

* * *

They had been looking for Neal for almost three days now. Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate the headache that had been there persistently since he had found out that Neal's anklet had been cut. It had been right after their argument, and Peter had thought that perhaps the same thing had happened that had happened with the jade elephants a couple of years before. Neal would send him a message in Morse code with the tracker, and the FBI would be able to rush in and catch the perpetrator right on time.

But that hadn't happened. There had been no message, no phone call, no witnesses to see anyone go in to June's house. In fact, Neal had snipped it right outside of June's house. June, of course, felt terrible about it – not that she believed that Neal had run, but she thought that perhaps he had been kidnapped again, and she should've noticed _something_ – never mind that she had been asleep when it happened. But there was no evidence of kidnapping – it was as though Neal had simply walked away. There had been only Neal's prints on the tracker when the FBI found it at the base of the front steps, so everyone was forced to believe that Neal truly _had _run.

Peter also began to believe it when he didn't get any messages from Neal – surely he would've been able to get _something _to him by now. But it had been completely radio silent on Neal's end.

Peter was brought out of his thoughts when his cell phone rang. He jumped a little, startled, and glanced at the caller ID. The area code was for Oklahoma.

_Who do I know in Oklahoma? _He wondered, pressing the green button to answer.

"Burke," he answered shortly.

"Peter?" the voice on the other end was shaky and sounded a little strained…and tired. But he would know that voice anywhere.

Peter sat up quickly in his chair, knocking a case file off of his desk in his haste. "Neal?"

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**Ha HA! I left you guys at a little cliffie, didn't I? :) Anyone have any guesses to why Neal left Shawn there? It shouldn't be too hard…just wait till you see Shawn's reaction to it! :) Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yes! Another chapter up the next DAY! I'm so happy I got through this one - it's one of my favorites! Yay!**

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Shawn grimaced as he tried to sit up, and then with a gasp he let himself fall again as white-hot pain stabbed through his abdomen.

_Dammit…_ he groaned and gave up trying to put himself in a sitting position again. It had been several hours since Nick - or whatever his _real_ name was - had left him, but still his betrayal stung deep.

"_I know how to get us out of here."_

He shouldn't feel so betrayed; he tried to reason with himself. After all, Nick was a con man, and on top of that, he hardly knew him. Why should Nick risk his own life to get him out, too? Still, though. After Nick had tried to stop the bleeding, he'd thought he at least cared a _little _bit for him – enough to try and get _him _out, too.

"_Don't be a bald squirrel who only knows how to tap dance," Shawn shot back without missing a beat. "I can use my brain, and I don't see __**any**__ way how __**both**__ of us are getting out of this."_

"_It'll happen," he said confidently. _

Why would Nick make that promise _twice_, though? He'd promised to get _both _of them out. And Shawn had completely fallen for it.

_Well, why __**wouldn't**__ I? _Shawn thought sourly. _He lies for a __**living**__. It was probably __**really**__ easy for him to con me into thinking that I could trust him. Now here I am with another gunshot wound to add to the one in my stomach. Yippee._

The man holding him had been angry when Nick had escaped, and because he couldn't get to Nick, he shot Shawn again instead, though this time in his bicep. Still, it hurt like a bitch. He winced when it was jostled again. The van was moving again – where, Shawn had no idea, but the sign he had seen in the brief moments when the van door had been open, he knew that he was somewhere in Oklahoma. The gas station they'd been at had been all but deserted – there had been a worker inside, but apparently that worker was helping with the orchestrated kidnapping, and he wasn't going to help Shawn out or report the gunfire at the fleeing kidnappee.

_Is that even a word? _Shawn wondered distantly. Then the van bounced again, sending flashes of pain through his entire torso and his arm. The pain was so intense that a moment later, he passed out.

* * *

Neal was breathing heavily as he tried to concentrate on what Peter was saying.

"No, Peter..._Peter_. I didn't run. I was kidnapped, and...Shawn...he..."

"Wait, Neal - who's Shawn?" Peter demanded. "Is he the one that kidnapped you? Where are you now? Are you - "

"Peter, I need you to listen to me," Neal said, gasping for breath. "I'm on a pay phone in Oklahoma - I don't have much time. Shawn Spencer - he was kidnapped from California and we were both in a moving van together. He was shot...and I don't know how long he can hold out. He lost a lot of blood."

"Wait - stay there," Peter demanded. "I'm putting up a tracker on the phone you're on. Are _you _alright? Were _you _shot?"

Neal shook his head, even though Peter couldn't see. "No," he said breathlessly. "I've just been...running for a while without water or food."

"Are you at a gas station?"

"No," Neal said. "I'm just at this pay phone that's in the middle of nowhere. There's nothing to eat or drink, Peter - I already looked."

"Stay there," Peter said. "I'll have agents out there tomorrow morning at the latest - we can get you back and then we can figure out..."

"No. No," Neal said, shaking his head again. "I need you to find the moving van. It's a U-Haul - one of the medium-sized ones. It has a dinosaur on the side of it and the license plate is covered in mud. I need to go back for Shawn - they could've hurt him because they were mad that I got away. I can't let him die, Peter."

"He won't die," Peter insisted. "I just need you to stay there until - "

"Sorry, Peter. I can't." Neal said tiredly. "Just remember to find the van before - "

_"Your allotted time has run out. Please insert more change."_

Neal shook his head and hung up the phone. "Sorry, Peter," he mumbled, and then began to dial a new number.

* * *

Juliet jumped when her desk phone rang, and she rubbed her eyes tiredly as she picked it up.

"Detective O'Hara, SBPD," she said in an almost monotonous tone.

_"Do you work with Shawn Spencer?"_

Juliet's eyebrows rose at the breathless voice on the other line. "Who is this?" she demanded. Shawn had been gone for a few days now without a word, but she hadn't worried too much until right then. The voice was unfamiliar...who could it be?

_"My name's Neal Caffrey - I work for the FBI," _the other voice said, still with that same odd breathlessness. _"I'm a friend of Shawn's. Shawn and I were kidnapped, and he was shot in the stomach."_

Juliet gasped. "Is he okay?"

_"He was when I left, but that was several hours ago. Sorry for the bluntness, but I'm in a hurry to get back to him and help him. Listen, I live in New York City, and I was kidnapped right outside my house, and Shawn told me he was kidnapped in Santa Barbara. I don't know of any connection of cases we have, but I need you to call the New York White Collar division of the FBI - ask for a Peter Burke. I need you to compare case files and try to find one that connects. I'm going to try and get Shawn and me away from these guys, but I can't guarantee anything, so this is important."_

"New York White Collar, Peter Burke, find connections in case files - got it," Juliet said with a nod.

_"Tell him that Neal told you," _he added.

Juliet nodded. "Okay. And...Neal?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Please...make sure that Shawn..."

His voice was sympathetic as he caught her meaning. _"Yeah," _he said. _"I will."_

Then he hung up. Juliet stared at her phone for a minute before putting it back on the hook.

"Carlton!" she called across the office to his desk. "Drop everything you're doing right now - we've got a new case that has _top _priority!"

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**So...you like? Yes? …Enough to review? Please?**


	5. Chapter 5

**I finally got this chapter up! Yay! I love this one...you'll see why...;)**

* * *

Neal hung up the phone wearily, resting his forehead against the side of the booth for a moment before he turned away with a grimace.

He hadn't lied to Peter, exactly, about the reason for his breathlessness. He hadn't realized how bad of a concussion he had until once he had almost fallen when he lost the adrenaline after running. Now he was dizzy, with dark spots beginning to cloud his vision. The lack of water definitely wasn't helping.

But he had to push that away – who knew how bad Shawn's condition was now. He had no doubt been punished for helping him escape – for all Neal knew, he could be…

_No. _Neal told himself sternly, cutting off his thought in the middle. _You __**cannot **__think like that. Shawn will be okay._

Well, he would be if he got moving to go back and help him.

It wasn't that he had a death wish; he wasn't masochistic, either. It's just that he knew that Shawn needed to keep hope, and needed to stay awake, otherwise he would die. If he thought that Neal had _truly_ abandoned him, then he would _really_ lose hope, and loss of hope in his situation could only lead to one thing.

Normally Neal wouldn't be too concerned about loss of hope, but he knew once Shawn started talking that he wasn't exactly one to live in one place too long. He was almost like a nomad – if he left, no one would think he was missing for a _very _long time, when they didn't get a postcard from him. And by then it would be too late.

And Shawn probably knew that.

So Neal had to go back, and assure him that people were looking for them – for _him_.

With a weary sigh, Neal began trudging down the road. He had begun to flee west when he first ran, but then he'd stood back and watched, waiting for the truck to drive east before he made a U-turn and followed the truck for several miles. He only followed until he found a telephone on the side of the road, and by then the truck had disappeared in the distance. He would be able to find it easily, if he walked all night – they would, no doubt, stop at a Motel 6 soon.

And then, Neal could make it look like he wasn't thinking, wandering aimlessly until the guys found him and threw him back in the truck.

The part he was dreading the most was, not only seeing Shawn's condition, but also knowing that some sort of punishment awaited him when he was caught. It made his pulse race with anxiety just thinking about it, so he tried to push those thoughts away, putting one foot in front of the other.

* * *

Shawn was startled awake by a loud gunshot firing somewhere outside. There was also the sound of a couple of men yelling, but in his weary and hazy mind, he was able to tune it out for a while.

He was just about to slip back into the blessed, pain-free darkness when the door at the back of the van flew open and something – scratch that; some_one_ – was shoved inside. Shawn barely had time to try and discern who it was before the door slammed closed again, leaving them trapped yet again.

"Shawn?" a familiar voice asked, sounding exhausted.

In a flash, Shawn was awake. "Nick?" he croaked. Huh. Maybe not as awake as he thought. After a pause, he breathed, "Bastard."

Neal ignored the last comment, saying instead, "Help is on the way. I found a phone – "

"Just…shut up," Shawn interrupted, sounding weary. "I don't want to hear any more lies from you. In fact, I'd like to just go to sleep right now, so if you could leave me in relative peace, it would be much appreciated."

"No," Neal said firmly. "You _can't _go to sleep, Shawn – that would hurt you more than it would help you."

Shawn gave a little scoff, his eyes already closed. That's why he missed that Neal had crawled over to him, so the sudden increased pressure on the wound in his side made him gasp with pain, his eyes flying open. Neal withdrew his hand when Shawn smacked at it, trying to get him to stop pressing on it.

"What the hell?" he ground out through gritted teeth, glaring in Neal's general direction.

"Sorry," Neal apologized, sounding sincere, but Shawn wasn't going to fall for that again. "But you need to stay awake, and I need you to listen to me."

"Go to hell," Shawn hissed, clutching his side in an attempt to stop the pain that still lingered.

Neal ignored his comment, saying firmly, "_Listen _to me, Shawn. My name is Neal Caffrey – I work with the FBI."

Shawn scoffed, but Neal continued, "When I got out of here, I was able to find a pay phone, and I called them and the Santa Barbara police. I told them everything I know, and they'll be working together to help find us."

"Give me one reason why I should believe a word you're telling me." Shawn said, sounding more weary than he did pissed off.

Neal paused, and then answered, "Because Juliet made me promise to keep you alive, and I can't do that with you losing hope."

Shawn swiveled his head to stare where he assumed Neal's face to be. "You talked to Jules." He said it more of a statement than a question.

Neal nodded, even though Shawn couldn't see him. "Yeah. She was really worried about you – I told her I'd make sure you'd be okay. Listen, I only left so that I could call for help – I came back to help _you_."

"I don't need help," Shawn said almost immediately.

"Yes, you do." Neal shot back. "Where else were you shot after I left?"

"M' arm," Shawn mumbled, sounding like he wasn't really thinking about it. He was slowly fading, and Neal knew it.

"Shawn, if you don't stay awake, I'm going to press on the wound again," Neal threatened, though he sounded more concerned than anything.

"What about _you_?" Shawn countered. "I heard the gunshots, and if you weren't giving me bullshit when you said you came back on purpose, it would've had to look real for you to be caught again. Where were _you _shot?"

"My right shoulder," Neal said with a slight wince as he remembered. He had been blocking out the throbbing sensation since he'd been thrown in the back of the van, but now that he was thinking about it again, the pain was brought to the front of his mind with full force. "It went straight through – I'll be fine."

"I dunno," Shawn said, sounding doubtful and mischievous at the same time. "You sound sleepy. Maybe I should press on _your _wound to make sure you stay awake."

"Ha-ha," Neal said sarcastically, though he was glad that while he kept up the conversation with Shawn, Shawn seemed to be more awake. "Thanks, but I can feel it since you brought it up – I won't be sleeping for a long time."

"Bummer," Shawn said, though he sounded teasing rather than honestly disappointed. "But if you ever feel drowsy, let me know and I'll save you from going into the light."

"Thanks for that," Neal said derisively. "I'll be sure to bear that in mind."

* * *

Peter had only been off of his phone call with Neal for five minutes when his phone rang again. This time the caller ID was for California. Without pausing to think, he answered it quickly, barking, "Peter Burke, White Collar."

"My name is Detective Juliet O'Hara," a young woman's voice said breathlessly. "Neal told me to call you."

In a flash, Peter was standing up, walking over to look out the window as he listened to the woman continue her explanation.

"He told me that we need to compare case files and find similarities."

Peter was already nodding as he turned and walked out of his office and into the mostly empty bullpen. Diana sat at her desk, and she looked up as Peter approached.

"I need all old case files pulled up that could even _possibly _have a connection to California." he told her, then talked back into the phone.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get to work."

* * *

**Review? :)**


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